I think often people who do something new don't benefit financially from it – the people who come after and make it palatable do that

Watching Here to Be Heard, it struck me that the women who were punk pioneers aren’t all that well-off – Tessa particularly. Is it difficult having been an ex-member of such an influential band and not really having seen much financial reward (although I assume the new writing career is going OK)?

I think often people who do something new, creatively, don't benefit finanacially from it - it's the people who come after and make them palatable that make money. But it was never a though t in our heads that we would make money - we were thrilled and delirious that we could live the lives we were living and could express ourselves, and have access to different countries, and a mouthpiece: that was absolutely way beyond our goals. I still feel now that if you're going to go out on a limb artistically, then young people have to accept the fact they're not going to make money - that's the price you pay for not having to wear certain clothes to work, to walk the path you've taken.

As for now, it took me three years to write the book - the advance was £8000 and I'm bringing up a daughter, so no, I'm not making money now either.

I definitely had an ideal reader in mind for the first book, which was either myself when I was young, or my daughter who was then about 15, or young women between 15 and 25, and I wanted to give them an honest account of a girl growing up, and an honest account of what I had experienced growing up - all the obstacles and humiliations - because I don't think women tell the honest truth of the downsides of their lives. I was being called a "legend" and I don't think that's helpful for people coming up in the world because it's intimidating and excluding. I wanted to tear the whole idea of a legend to pieces, and show the truth: whether that's shitting yourself, getting the sack, being ridiculed, being lonely - it was like my alternative CV.

With the second book I didn't have an ideal reader in mind as it developed quite out of my control, this detective novel of why am I so full of anger, why did I pick up a guitar when I was poor and uneducated. It started out as a novel, but I realised the woman was me, and I realised it was more interesting to write that, that the angry woman was me - in a way the second book might have been for me. But it didn't start out that way.

And if you absolutely try and be honest about your feelings and actions, that the chances are it will resonate with other people - though sometimes I think oh god, I will have lost everyone here! To my amazement, every time, it does resonate with many others - even that fight with my sister, I've since heard so many people come up and say that similar things happened with them.

To Throw Away Unopened was like writing a detective story and finding clues as I went along

I loved your most recent book: it carried many echoes of my own family relationships. In particular it really made me consider my own personal blind spots. Do you feel that writing it taught you anything about your own?

Yeah, writing it was like writing a detective story and finding clues asI went along - clues to my own and my own family's behaviour. Which was very illuminating. With knowledge, came compassion and understanding, so it definitely redemptive in a way I suppose. And helped me be less judgmental and narrow minded about my family and their actions. As to my own blind spots, it's revelatory really, when you suddenly realise you've seen something completely wrong, because we trust out own version of events so completely. Same thing with a crime scene - five people can have completely different accounts. My account wasn't the definitive truth, we all had our own truths and they were all equally valid.

After the Slits I found that I couldn't listen to music – it was just too painful. I lost my faith

After the Slits I found that I couldn't listen to music - it was a bit like the way you feel after breaking up after a long relationship, and it was just too painful. The sound of the instruments reminded me of what I lost, or the songs were too upsetting, or they were annoying because people weren't as good as we were! That hasn't gone away. I haven't found music comforting since the 80s, but it doesn't mean it's not good - it just doesn't work for me. It's shocking to me because music was my religion from the age of 11, and it's like I don't believe in my god any more.

I know it's annoying, but I think it comes from either people feeling they have no power, or a certain sense of frustration, or a sense of guilt. And also combine that with the way everyone has a platform now, it's been magnified. Frankly I get offended easily myself, and it's so easy to get it out there nowadays. It'll probably die down once the internet... it's still so new, and it's a phase. The 70s were a bit like that as well, and that went away again. Then again, capitalism came in - people were more interested in making money than moaning. But I think it probably is a phase.

My favourite guitar was - I can't remember if it was 50s or 60s - a pale wood Telecaster, and it made me a better player. It was beautiful, so easy to play. But then I was told it was stolen off Marianne Faithfull's boyfriend, he got in touch and obviously I gave it back to him - I was down a guitar and a couple of grand. The thief got away with a couple of grand, and I lost it. I'm not really into fetishising guitars or guitarists, and as Mona Chalabi's girlfriend asked: why are white people so enthralled with guitars and guitarists?

I was nearly your new drummer girrl in 1978 instead of Budgie and have some regrets about not running for it from my teen home life and jumping into a new life of music & gigs. You lot were braver than me and we’re an immense influence on my girl gang of teenage friends. Been waiting for more stories from the women of Punk about their experiences.Can you recall any ‘magic ‘ moments when something unexpected happened?

I'm proud of everything I do, actually. I haven't done much, only three or four things, and I put three or four years into each. They're the best I can do at the time. I'm very strict and vigorous with myself, so it would be cruel to pick any one thing - I always did my best at the time.

Thank you! It's funny, but up to six or seven years ago, I could barely speak - I had lost all my personality and confidence, due to years of illness,. and a marriage going wrong, and motherhood can be quite isolating. I'm a different person now. I've gradually taught myself to speak and have thoughts on subjects though I still feel quite nervous about it. I trained to speak again and have thoughts, when I was living in Hastings, and I would drive along the seafront interviewing myself to build back up my confidence. I asked myself what my favourite colour was, and why, and I had to build up a story about why. Asked about the buildings along the seafront, the weather... I just built up my confidence. My accent has changed, and when I hear old tapes of myself I had a very "street" accent; now, it's just an amalgamation of growing up in London.

As for my favourite punk song ever, I'm not keen on listing musicians or songs as if they were breakfast cereals. But my favourite breakfast is French toast with fresh berries and maple syrup because I found that all breakfast cereals give me the shits.

We didn't want to release an album until we could play what we could hear in our heads - and it took a year and a half to play out instruments well enough to do that. We did the Peel sessions which you can buy and they do capture that energy - they are incredibly tight even though the engineers laughed at us at the time. They're probably now dead and we have a top 50 album of all time at Island Records. So that's that.

Your first memoir had a huge impact on me. I read it as I was about to turn 40 and found it completely inspiring, so much so that I’ve named a character after you in a play that I’m writing about some exceptionally cool and creative women. If you could choose your legacy and the lasting influence your life/career might have on other creative women, what would it be?

I'll give an attempt to answer this but off the top of my head - to be creative rather than an entertainer involves being selfish, not only about your time but the impact your work will have on those close to you. It involves being an outsider to some degree and both those things are not how women are brought up to be, or made to feel comfortable. You have to face that you will probably be poor. All those things are uncomfortable, especially to women because of how they're brought up. But if you are that sort of person, you probably can't live any other kind of life, so you might as well get on with it.

I think I had two. Mr Hasdell and Mr Reed. Mr Hasdell was my English teacher and brought Shakespeare alive for me; Mr Reed was my art teacher and treated me - in a time when teaching was quite cruel in many ways - like a human being and let me spend all my time in the art room and asked me to lend him records. Without any flirting or sexuality, they were just really great teachers who cared about learning, and when they saw someone who was responsive to a subject, went out of their way to make you feel worthy of attention. I had failed the 11+ so I really needed that help.

I did have to pull a G-string out of the arse of an actor on a commercial once. That was the worst job I've ever had

I have spent my life trying not to have a proper job and have mainly succeeded! That's one of the reasons why people went to art school, because you were considered a dropout. I sold ice cream in Villiers Street, the Mr Whippy kind; I was second assistant runner on commercials; cleaner; leaflet deliverer; I did work at the Institute of Electrical Engineers for a couple of summers as assistant to the secretaries, and god knows how I got it because I turned up in an old Victorian petticoat, and this was not when people wore vintage! That was the only job my father was interested in, including my being a musician.

I did have to pull a G string out of the arse of an actor on a commercial one, a man playing a sumo wrestler - that was the worst job I've ever had. He actually asked me to do it. Nowadays I would say no because there's much more awareness of where the line stops in terms of exploitation or humiliation of underlings as he saw me - that's what's good about the MeToo movement, it's giving women an idea of when they can say no. I didn't feel particularly abused, but it took me a long time to get that makeup out of my fingernails - I think it was makeup anyway...

We all came from dysfunctional families or had mental health problems. That's not something I'm ashamed of. I think we made something of our lives

Maybe dysfunction gives you the freedom to be a punk. That kind of raw, honest, original creativity could only erupt because of the bad experiences and lack of help or understanding that people had lived through.

I think that's true, though at the time in 76 and 77 we didn't have words to describe social or mental difficulties, even things like Aspergers and ADHD, and I think that really was something we all had in common - we came from dysfunctional families or had mental health issues. That's not something I'm ashamed of. I think it's wonderful we made something of our lives, even if only for a few months, considering we were outsiders and didn't fit into any system.

Thank you very much. I'm one of those people who can only do one thing at a time, especially artistically, and I have to be galvanised or compelled to do something or I can't get out of bed. At the moment I'm really enjoying being in the long form of book writing where you can explore ideas and my own psyche - it's more satisfying, and I don't really have room for anything else.

There's one song I really want to do, as well. But I've forgotten how to play and sing. I managed to fake it for a bit but if you're unschooled you lose the knack. It's called What Did You Do With Your Life, Mummy? A sort of take on What Did You Do In The War, Daddy.